


Good Evening, Detective Inspector

by 2babyturtles



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, POV Lestrade, Paternal Lestrade, Paternal Mycroft, Sherlock - Freeform, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 01:29:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11956845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2babyturtles/pseuds/2babyturtles
Summary: Greg’s grip tightens around the gun and cold fear eats his stomach. “Who are you?” he demands, wishing he could sound as collected as this terrifying man.“Mycroft Holmes,” he answers easily, standing and turning to face Greg. His hooked nose and piercing eyes bring to mind predatory birds, but nothing so graceful as a hawk. Perhaps a vulture. “You don’t know who I am, I can see that on your funny little face. But that’s not important. I think it’s quite clear that I am more important, and more powerful, than you. That should be quite enough to go on.”





	Good Evening, Detective Inspector

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr Request  
> Anonymous said: "Mycroft asking Greg a favor.."

Sitting at his new desk in a new suit with a new title, Greg Lestrade thinks this is a very good day. Most of the office has gone home for the night but something about the new leather chair doesn’t want to give him up and he finds himself organizing the few belongings he has instead. His favorite item is the name plate:  **Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade** .

He had started with it in the center of his desk but decided that was too imposing and set it at an angle off to the right side. Now, he wonders whether it should be on the left side so when he shakes hands with people, their arms won’t block it from view. Smiling to himself, he leans back and observes the new setup, deciding with a satisfied nod that it does indeed look better that way.

The heavy silence of the empty police station is suddenly broken when the phone rings. It was one of the first things he put on the desk and he’s been eagerly awaiting the opportunity to answer it. Still, the blistering ring piercing the air at nearly nine at night is unsettling.

He looks around for a moment, trying to decide whether he should answer. At this time of night, no one could really expect their call to be answered. They’ll leave a voice mail and he can talk to them tomorrow. But something itches him forward and he finds his hand hovering over the receiver.

Before the fifth ring finishes, he picks up the phone and holds it nervously to his ear. “Detective Inspector Lestrade,” he answers. The nerves in his stomach somewhat mar the moment but he still smiles a bit at his first official greeting in his new title.

A cold voice, distinctly posh and entirely unfamiliar, responds on the other end of the line. “Good evening, Detective Inspector. Look up.”

Greg’s instinct is to hang up but something stays his hand. Obliging the mystery man, he looks up, peering out his office door. The few lights that had remained on in the station suddenly go out, one by one, until only his own office is lit. “Who is this?” he growls, standing up and retrieving his gun from the nearest desk drawer, the phone still pressed against his head.

“Follow the lights, Detective Inspector.” The line goes dead as the hall light comes on and the office light goes out. Greg sets down the receiver and runs his hand down his face. The thought of his wife flashes through his mind for a moment but he knows he doesn’t have any options anyway and pushes them aside. Clutching his gun carefully, Greg follows the lights.

Each time he steps into one lighted area, it goes dim and the next one lights up. A cold sweat builds on his neck as he follows, not even sure who or what he’s following or where he’s going. To his surprise, he’s soon standing in the same room he recently accepted his new title. The chairs are still lined up in rows from where friends, family, and the press sat just a few hours previously.

Sitting in the front row, as if he’s watching the ceremony take place, is a man in a brown suit. His hands are propped on the umbrella between his legs and a thinning mess of hair adorns his rather large head. “Funny how people find comfort in a gun,” he muses. “It’s the very thing that could take end your whole career. So I’m quite sure you won’t shoot me here, and so it can’t be any comfort at all.”

Greg’s grip tightens around the gun and cold fear eats his stomach. “Who are you?” he demands, wishing he could sound as collected as this terrifying man.

“Mycroft Holmes,” he answers easily, standing and turning to face Greg. His hooked nose and piercing eyes bring to mind predatory birds, but nothing so graceful as a hawk. Perhaps a vulture. “You don’t know who I am, I can see that on your funny little face. But that’s not important. I think it’s quite clear that I am more important, and more powerful, than you. That should be quite enough to go on.”

His feet shift reflexively as he takes a more defensive stance. Words don’t feel natural as they spill from his mouth in smears. “What do you want?” So many questions run through his mind but he’s more afraid of the answers to most of them than he is of not knowing.  _ How did you break into Scotland Yard and manipulate its entire power grid?  _ for example.

Mycroft Holmes pulls a small notebook from his pocket and flips a few pages back from the bookmark. “Gregory Lestrade,” he reads. “Addicted to cigarettes. Married to Tawnya Lestrade nee Brookson. Unfortunate, really, as she has a greater interest in your neighbor than yourself.”

“Alright stop it! What do you want?” A growl builds in Greg’s chest. He hates hearing about Tawnya’s affairs as if he doesn’t already know and who is this guy to talk about it anyway?

Mycroft snaps the book shut and returns it to his pocket, leaning on his umbrella and peering at Greg with a small smile. “What do you know about Sherlock Holmes?”

“Dear God,” Greg swears. “He’s your son?”

The strange man’s jaw clenches and an eyebrow raises angrily. “Brother,” he corrects.

“Oh, sorry about that. Um...I dunno. I’ve heard the name I think.”

“Indeed you have. Sherlock Holmes has worked closely with Scotland Yard on a number of cases and has been repeatedly shunned. He will naturally seek to work with you.”

Greg sighs, rolling his shoulders. “You want me to let him help me?”

Mycroft laughs, something demeaning even about his humor. “That’s up to you, Detective Inspector. Although, I’d suggest you do. No, I want you to keep your eye on him.”

“Is he dangerous?”

“Exceptionally. But mostly to himself. Watch out for him won’t you?”

Greg stares blankly. “You...want me to...watch out for him? You’re asking me a favor?”

“Yes,” Mycroft responds, confused. “I thought that was rather clear. You’ll meet him tomorrow morning early, best get home and tuck in for the night. Your wife should be there by now, not to worry.”

Mycroft turns and strolls from the room without waiting for a response, leaving Greg alone. A moment after he’s gone, the lights come back on in the rest of the building. Shaking his head, Greg tucks his gun away and returns to his office to retrieve his belongings. “Bloody cock,” he mutters.


End file.
